


Sip Thy Jasmines

by japansace



Series: My Love, We Deserve the Softest Eternity [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Elves, Honeymoon, M/M, Magic, Porn with Feelings, Switching, Top Katsuki Yuuri, Top Victor Nikiforov, so many feeings, unwavering commitment to each other as a kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27284812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: Are you happy, my love?Yuuri asks him in his mind, as though he, too, wishes not to disrupt the serenity of the moment.So happy I could burst,Victor thinks back.I married you today, didn’t I? It was the very best day of my life.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: My Love, We Deserve the Softest Eternity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133426
Comments: 28
Kudos: 138





	Sip Thy Jasmines

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I promised you spice. And I always deliver on my promises.
> 
> Note: All of the other titles in this series are entirely made up (not based on anything), but the title of this fic is NOT from my imagination. It instead comes from this Emily Dickinson poem:
> 
> Come slowly – Eden!  
> Lips unused to Thee –  
> Bashful – sip thy Jasmines –  
> As the fainting Bee –
> 
> Reaching late his flower,  
> Round her chamber hums –  
> Counts his nectars –  
> Enters – and is lost in Balms.
> 
> It was just too fitting not to use. So with that out of the way...
> 
> Ages:
> 
> Victor: 810  
> Yuuri: 770

There’s a lovely shimmer over the water of Sealand tonight: an iridescent glow, a soft sparkling. One can see it in the waves, as they curl over the beach; one can see it far out, where the sun melts into the horizon line.

And Yuuri and Victor sit upon the sand and watch it: the soft blues and lilacs of the night, as they settle in around them. They’ve planted themselves in the sand, with little bits of it clinging to their knees and ankles; far off cries of children playing in the surf reach their ears, of dogs barking after a thrown stick.

Victor sighs into Yuuri’s crown, where his head is pressed against Victor’s mouth, just because he can. Just because he can sit here and _breathe,_ in perfect content, and no one will say anything about it.

 _Are you happy, my love_? Yuuri asks him in his mind, as though he, too, wishes not to disrupt the serenity of the moment.

 _So happy I could burst,_ Victor thinks back. He gathers up Yuuri’s hand, from where it is pressed against the ground, and brushes the grains from his fingers. _I married you today, didn’t I? It was the very best day of my life._

Yuuri smiles, pressing a kiss against Victor’s temple. _The day is not quite over yet._ Inflections are hard to get across through the mind—Victor and Yuuri are still working on it, even years later—but there’s a suggestion in this thought that’s clear as can be: a “come hither” that Victor doesn’t have to be a mind talent to easily recognize. It has a pleasant chill running down his spine, from the implications of it.

After all, they still have an entire honeymoon to indulge in after this, don’t they?

 _I’m ready to devour you,_ Yuuri tells him, unbidden. _I’m ready to have you on my tongue and savor the flavor. Learn you, study you, set myself to mastery. Mine you like a treasure trove, discovering all the little secrets of you in every corner and crevice._

Heat swells in the apples of Victor’s cheeks, so quick it almost makes him faint.

It’s certainly not the first time he and Yuuri will have made love. They hold themselves to no archaic human practices of “saving themselves for marriage”; yet the prospect does feel heightened, somehow, now that they’ve committed themselves to each other for all eternity. The arrangement is _permanent,_ henceforth. They’ve sworn an oath before the world—one that is nigh unbreakable, for beings of their kind.

It would be a commitment like none before, to have Yuuri now and be had in return.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t do this on the beach,” Victor says, shrugging his shoulder at the elven children playing in the waves.

Yuuri chuckles. “Fair enough.” He pushes himself up, dusting his palms of sand before he offers one to Victor.

Victor takes it adoringly, with affection spilling over so readily from him Yuuri can easily read it from his face, let alone his thoughts.

They trip into Yuuri’s parents’ inn, divesting themselves of shoes and frocks, running giggling down the hallways like children being allowed a long-awaited sleepover.

They finally wrestle themselves down into a bed, but Victor doesn’t know what to _do with it_ ; he’s overrun with pure glee at this point, overloaded in the mind with _Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri,_ in a way that only leaves him kissing into the dip of Yuuri’s collarbone, tickling at his sides, twisting themselves up in the blankets, safe and soft and cocooned, until they can’t kick themselves out, forced to rest and hold each other and breathe each other’s air, Yuuri’s fingers tracing figures on the skin of Victor’s nape where it makes him all shivery and content.

“I never dreamed of a love like this,” Victor says, out of breath. “I—you _hope_ , but you never _know_.”

Yuuri stops his figures, to hold Victor close: two arms wrapped around the back. “I know what you mean. For life to be this wonderful? Surely we aren’t deserving of it.”

“ _You_ are,” Victor says, adamant. “Oh, my darling, you deserve this and _more_.”

“You do as well,” Yuuri says. He kisses at one of Victor’s brows. “Beautiful, talented, brilliant beyond compare—”

“Yuu _ri_ —”

“You are!”

“If anyone’s poetics should be waxed, it’s _yours_.” Victor sits up, to look at Yuuri properly. He loves Yuuri like this: when he smiles with his whole face, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling up until you can only see the pupils sparkling with what seemed to be a million stars. “You’re like… You’re like _starlight._ Twinkling vibrant from beyond, brilliant and bursting.”

Yuuri only smiles more, drawing a hand through Victor’s hair, just above the eye. “Then you’re like _moonlight._ A constant shining presence, bright and luminous.”

Victor can’t find any more words, after that. He simply sinks into Yuuri’s arms and drinks from him: feeling out the shape of his lips, his sweet mouth and all the contours therein.

After a while though, Yuuri’s eyes flicker red yet again. _I’m still wishing to have you. Did you forget?_

_Never._

_Then…?_

Victor rolls to his side, bringing Yuuri along with him in his arms. _Then have me, my dear._

Yuuri reaches behind himself for the nightstand, with a fumbling hand.

Yuuri’s fingers enter him like the first time: jittery, all over the place, too enthusiastic for precision. But he’s so _warm_ and present—kissing all over Victor’s face throughout the process—that Victor can’t find it anything but horribly, terribly endearing.

He pulls Yuuri over him all the way just to _feel_ him, just to get the press of Yuuri’s skin upon him all the more solidly. The wet slide between them is soft and open—a product of regular activity between them—and it feels like _home_ , like being exactly where they are meant to be.

Victor gets his mouth upon Yuuri’s again, frantic still to have no space between them.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” Victor pants, heavy. “A thousand years, a million years, a million _lifetimes—_ I will always be famished for you, as though I’ve never had you before.”

“I feel the same,” Yuuri says; his fingers pet at Victor, at his innermost parts. “I never wish to stop looking at you, speaking with you, loving and living with you.”

“And you never have to, starlight,” Victor says with all the severity of an oath, the endearment spilling from his tongue like it was always meant to be there.

Yuuri brushes noses with him: where the freckles have begun to bloom upon Victor with approaching summer, like constellations. “Moonlight…” Conversely, he says the diminutive slowly— _carefully—_ as though reciting it from the ancient passages of a tome.

The moniker sparks something in Victor, immediately, and he comes undone then and there, in Yuuri’s hands.

“A-ah—” _Too soon_ , Victor thinks, but Yuuri just giggles, sitting up to settle between Victor’s open legs.

“So easy for me,” Yuuri says, just a touch smug.

Victor throws an arm over the forehead. “Only for you,” he says, equal parts truth and theatric.

“Yes.” Yuuri pushes forward, sinking himself inside his lover. “Only for _me_.”

This is one of Victor’s favorite sensations: feeling _full,_ feeling the Yuuri-shaped cavity inside him appropriately filled. It’s a sense of peace and contentment like none other, a _wholeness_ that cannot be replicated.

“So good to me, starlight,” Victor says, using the diminutive again just to have it upon his lips, feeling drunk and liquidy and warm all over.

Yuuri laughs at him lightly, kissing at the little divot under his chin. He’s moving but very slowly. Victor could fall asleep like this, he thinks.

 _Don’t fall asleep like this,_ Yuuri tells him, in reading the thought from him. Victor only throws back his head, chuckling lowly in the throat. _I want you to be inside me as well._

That’s enough to stir Victor into proper awakeness.

Yuuri picks up his pace: a solid maneuver Victor can grasp onto, a tether against the earth. The slide between them is almost frictionless but full of motion, full of _intensity._ Victor holds onto Yuuri’s shoulders with a force now, nearly overcome.

Then Yuuri spills in him: that warm, golden syrupy sensation that has Victor seeing stars. He doesn’t come again—it’s too soon for something like that—but he luxuriates in the experience regardless, feeling balmy and sugary and _Yuuri’s_ down to his core _._

“Did you like it?” Yuuri says, quiet in his ear. He always requires reassurance, no matter how much Victor cries out in ecstasy.

Victor holds him softer now, with fingertips trailing across the skin of his back. “I loved it, of course.”

Yuuri collapses the rest of his weight, just to feel him more. “I’m glad.”

After a moment of respite, they switch their positions, in so that Victor is looming overhead. Yuuri this way—his head against the mattress, his shoulder-length hair fanning out, crown-like—brings certain images to Victor’s mind, some less erotic than one would assume.

He leans down to catch one of the strands by Yuuri’s ear, rubbing it between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. “Do you… understand what marrying me means?”

Yuuri tilts his head, the strand bunching between Victor’s digits with the movement. He looks as though he desperately wants to delve into Victor’s mind for whatever could be concerning him but holds back, knowing all too well the price of skipping over the tangle of someone’s troubles to more quickly reach the root of the issue. “What do you mean?”

“Just that…” Victor thumbs at the tress. “You’ll be queen someday, if I ever manage to get back in my parents’ good graces.”

Yuuri blinks. “And?”

“ _And?_ You’ve thought about it?”

“Of course I have.”

Of course he has. Yuuri thinks about _everything_ ; Victor feels a fool for even considering for one fleeting second that he hadn’t. “Then—” He swallows. “You’re all right with that? Being royalty someday? Leaving your family and Sealand for a people and a land you’ve never known?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Yuuri takes Victor in both hands, brushing fingers against the give of his cheeks, the column of his throat. “I’ll be with you _._ I’ll be at _home,_ with _you._ ”

Victor breaks all at once at this, like a dam.

“ _Yuuri—_ ”

“Don’t cry—” It’s not un-empathetic, for Yuuri to plead so; it is merely that his talent won’t allow him to watch someone else cry without forcing him to cry as well. Still, he opens his arms for Victor: lets him snuggle in, touch each and every bit of skin he can get his skin on as well. Yuuri chuckles, wetly, as Victor squirms still, wanting to get as close to Yuuri as the laws of the universe will allow.

“You know,” Yuuri says, with one hand anchored deep into the hairs at Victor’s nape, “when you cry, I think of diamonds.”

“Diamonds?” Victor sniffles.

“M’hm. Precious gems made under extreme pressure… Your tears resemble them in many ways, aside from their physical appearance.”

Victor leans back, in so that he can get a better look at his beloved. As he thought, his tears are upon Yuuri: in the crevice of his collarbone and against the skin under his eye. Most significantly, some hang suspended in the short hairs before his forehead and around his ears, like a proper queen’s circlet. “I can easily imagine you,” he says, fingering at one of the strands, dispersing the water there, “as royalty. I think, somehow, you were always meant to be.”

Yuuri blinks. “More than you?”

“Certainly more than me.”

Yuuri hums, as though mulling it over. “I wasn’t born into a long line of kings and queens, as you were. I wasn’t raised from a young age to rule. What makes you think I am capable of such a thing, even above yourself?”

“It is exactly those things that make you more capable.” Victor kisses one of his own tears away, from Yuuri’s temple. “You were brought up among the people. You are kind and thoughtful and gifted with a talent that makes you naturally more considerate of your peers. You were simply born for leadership, my dear; I’m afraid you’ll have to accept it.”

“And?” Yuuri says, breathily, sensing still more to Victor’s spiel.

“And…” Victor reaches for the oil, warming it in his hands. “I think you’ll look absolutely _dashing_ in royal wear. Certainly that must count for something, yes?”

Yuuri smirks, even as he flushes head to toe. “Flatterer.”

“Only for you,” Victor parrots his words from before.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuuri says, on the outside of a gasp as Victor’s fingers enter him, “only for _me._ ”

Yuuri likes to feel _held,_ in every sense of the word. Victor and he hadn’t been together nearly as long as other elves they knew, but ten years was not nothing; Victor was an avid study, and Yuuri was his favorite subject. So he knew how to hold Yuuri: how to brush against that inner nerve of Yuuri’s that had him panting, press down on his lower stomach to caress him from the inside out. He knew how to hold his hips and his calves and even trace over the arches of his delicate feet, just firm enough not to tickle but soft enough to have the skin break out there in delightful shivers. Victor would please him every which way for hours on end, if only Yuuri would allow it; but his love grew impatient quickly, and he, unfortunately, knew of all the best ways to have Victor jump ahead to the main event.

Most of them no one else was capable of, after all.

 _Wouldn’t you rather be inside me, Vitya?_ Yuuri asks, coy as a kitten. He slips his foot from Victor’s hold to draw it against his inner thigh, forcing an inhale of breath from Victor through the teeth. _Aren’t you cold, Vitya? I’ll warm you up._

“Cheater,” Victor says, not without fondness, moving Yuuri’s foot where he prefers it, grinding against the ball of it.

“Hmm.” Yuuri keeps his hands at his side; he doesn’t need them. _You’re all mine, Vitya. You gave yourself to me today: mind, body, and soul._

 _I did,_ Victor cannot help but think. His eyes are closed now, hands splayed upon the mattress as he loses himself to the sensation of Yuuri upon him.

_Well then? I am already in possession of your mind. Now I shall have your body._

“ _Yuuri_ —”

“Come here.” And Yuuri’s arms are already outstretched by the time Victor sinks forward, fitting neatly into Yuuri’s each and every crevice.

“ _Ah—”_ Yuuri always gasps upon his entrance, like it’s a surprise. It never is; Yuuri is always begging for it by the time Victor indulges him. But Victor loves that tiny wisp of breath anyway: right next to his ear, full of heat, full of _passion._ It has a distinct addictive quality that has him more fond of it every time: a warm bath after a hard ride across a prairie, a delicious meal after a good day’s work.

He can hardly imagine what it will be like to hear Yuuri sigh for him a thousand years out, ten thousand years out, a million.

Just as sweet as the first, he thinks.

And it will only ever be for him.

“You have my soul too,” Victor mumbles, from his position pressed up against Yuuri’s neck. The pulse is loud, in his ears. “What you said before… the soul is yours too, you know.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, and it’s exactly what Victor wanted to hear. He groans, deep and guttural, into the skin of his beloved, where the sinew is pulled taut with exertion and fondness. He presses a thumb against the vein there, just to feel the race of it. “Silly Vitya,” Yuuri goes on, and Victor can feel that too: the soft tenor of him, the pleasant hum. “We’re each other’s now. You know that.”

“M’hm.” Victor starts to feel sleepy again, warm and contented as he is. “Forever.” Victor has never known why this term frightens mortals, sends them skittish; no word—Elvish or otherwise—is as comforting as that one in this moment, from where Victor is currently both in the physical and mental sense.

He can almost feel the weight of Yuuri’s need to ask, _Are you sure?_ as he has many times already; but Victor told him to stop asking, that his mind had already been long set. Strange, he thinks. Perhaps he is picking up a talent for the mind along with ice, with how he’s coming to understand Yuuri so well.

A talent for one. A talent for _Yuuri_.

He can think of no better use for it.

“For-e- _ver_.” And Victor punctuates it with a thrust, that has Yuuri scrabbling for the sheets.

He’s all breath now, Victor’s most precious treasure. He always manages to lose the words, when Victor takes him well. Even his talent doesn’t seem to know up from down; his eyes flicker from their typical ruddy brown to sunset aflame many a time, but Victor doesn’t catch anything coherent from him. Mostly sounds, little bits of emotion. Images of colors, bursts of light. But truthfully, these thoughts and feelings could be his own; the two are so blended together by now, the difference truly doesn’t matter.

Who could care about the minutiae, at a time like this? Victor dares anyone to have Yuuri in their arms and try to string even one simple sentence together.

(Except that he doesn’t, because Yuuri is _his_.)

It’s with that sentiment that Victor comes undone, Yuuri quickly following with the friction of his sex against Victor’s belly. They’re _quite_ the mess at this point but warm and content. Yuuri makes a comment in his mind about wishing he were a water talent like his mother—in so that he wouldn’t have to get up, to clean them off—and Victor chuckles, only holding him closer.

It was a worry for later on. The two of them were _far_ too exhausted, from a day of vowing everlasting love and then demonstrating said love. They would tend to each other in the morning— _every morning,_ from now on.

It is with this thought and smiles on their lips that they pass on into sleep, the gems of their betrothal necklaces tucked together, like two halves of a greater whole.

**Author's Note:**

> I might take a break from this series to focus on some other work. (Emphasis, of course, on the "might.") Who knows? But I will always be back with elves until I tell you otherwise, so don't go anywhere.


End file.
